Epiphany???

This past week was Spring Break. While I welcomed the Break with open arms, especially given the very rough times and hard grind I've been on since the semester started, it was not as enjoyable as it could have been. But on Saturday, my last day in Houston until Easter Break, I got an epiphany of sorts.

The first was Saturday morning. I had to attend a funeral for the first mentor and the first real male role model (that I wasn't related to) I ever had, my 10th grade World History teacher, Major W. Stevenson. Part of the reason I had tried to get home so early last week (I wanted to leave Friday, but had to work Saturday) was so I could visit him, as I had heard he was at home battling and recovering from cancer. I found he passed out on the Sunday morning of Spring Break. It was terrible timing, considering I had arrived to Houston on Sunday afternoon. Thoughts bombarded my head. Guilt weighed over me. He had given me his home number and I had called only once or thrice, but not once since junior year. He had never been able to receive or be given an invite to my college graduation. I was unsure if he knew exactly how appreciative I really was of his efforts to make sure I knew I had choices in life, to help me understand that I COULD matter and COULD be important someday.

I appreciated that the funeral had been moreso a celebration of his life, as opposed to a place of mourning. People cried. I cried, especially when his son, Major Jr., told stories about him. His wife said something that hit home for me - when she closed her remarks about her husband, she said, "Major was tired. He was so much to so many for so long. All I can say to you, baby, is 'Well done.'" That resonated with me because I think I've tried to do that - be a lot to a lot of people. But it was also just beautiful to hear his wife say that about him. It had me hoping and thinking my own wife would say similar about me...

Which leads me to Saturday night. I had been restless and had finally laid myself down to get some kind of sleep around 5 in the morning. And that night, I had a terrible dream. I dreamt that I was at my own funeral. Many people were there, a lot of friends, family, random people I remembered slightly from coming through my job (as I've always hoped would be). A lot of the young ladies I had liked in the past had also attended. And what struck me was hearing them talk about me: every young lady said the same thing, "I'm going to miss Bradford a lot. He was SO nice." And that's it. Nothing was said about my contributions, my accomplishments. When asked about me, all those women could say was, "He was SUCH a nice person." That's when I look back at the funeral procession, and it dawns on me that I've died alone. There's no ring on my left ring finger. There's no woman who looks like she was my girlfriend or wife.

That left me haunted. Leaves me haunted still now. It's a scary thought to imagine that I'll never end up in a serious relationship, or married, or have a family, before I die. I know some guys shy away from commitment, but I think at the end of it, we all want someone to settle down with and grow old with. In that dream, I had died young and had not found 'my special someone'... and all anyone could say about me was that I was "so nice." Is THIS my legacy? Is THIS prophetic, an omen to what's to come? Am I being told that if I stay the nice person I am... I will never be "boo'ed up"? Scary thought. And at 23 years old, I must admit, it's becoming more and more believable than I'd like it to be.

I don't really know what else to write here, but I just thought I'd share that. I wonder if people will be able to say I was so much to so many and did all I could in the time allotted to make other people's lives better... but I also wonder if my niceness is not only the thing I'll be remembered for, but also the thing that pushed the women (especially "that one") in my life away from me.